


try your best to mend

by Arianne, patrexes



Series: Kinktober 2019 [21]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Crying, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time Blow Jobs, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 21:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes
Summary: “Out with it, boy.”





	try your best to mend

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: crying. the list probably meant dacryphilia but… oh well.
> 
> this is the sequel to a fic that hasn’t been written yet. bear with us.

Estinien had full ignored two plaintive looks from Alphinaud across the fire. Come the third, he snapped, “Out with it, boy.”

Alphinaud opened his mouth, looked to each side, and finding the others still retired for the night, shut it again. Estinien did not need to see his color in the fire’s glow to know his cheeks had flushed. “It’s nothing,” he lied.

“I mustn’t be familiar with the word’s definition amongst the Elezen of Sharlayan.” Estinien turned over the charred remains of a log with the tip of his lance, letting up a cloud of ash and smoke. “In Ishgard, little fascinates so poorly as nothing.”

Alphinaud scowled at him. “When we,” he paused and set his jaw. “When we went to bed…” Estinien set down his lance to stare at the boy, waving his hand to usher him on when it seemed his courage had ended there. Alphinaud, staring at his own palms in his lap, seemed not to notice; taking a deep breath, he pulled a face that might have been consternation and went on, “It was very gentle.”

“And you’re—upset by this?” Perhaps Estinien had erred in his unpracticed kindness. He had thought to protect the boy, but if he had sought treatment which might erase the memory of that suffered at the Ward’s hands—to have bedded him with the dignity he deserved might well have done him no good, or even inadvertently done a worse harm.

“I, well, no, I—I only didn’t expect it. Such tenderness seems… unlike you.”

Estinien crossed his arms; his helm obscured his scowl. “I intended to make it good for you. _Use_ you could have gotten from any man, but you came to me first, I _thought_ because you trusted I would treat you well.”

“I did!” Alphinaud said. “I do. But you didn’t treat me—how you normally treat your lovers, did you?”

“‘Lovers’,” Estinien scoffed. “The people I _fuck_ know what they’re getting into. They can handle it.”

For a moment, Alphinaud’s upset was laid bare on his face before he smoothed his features. Chill, he remarked, “Your opinion of yourself must be lower still than I ever imagined, if you truly believe it would traumatize me simply to be had by you as you would have anyone else.”

“You’re not anyone else,” said Estinien, weak even to his own ears. “And given your past ill use, I should not think what you need from me is to fall to your knees and suck my cock with only a tree to shield you from a tavern full of prying eyes.”

“You can’t possibly know what I need. I’ve not spoken a word to you of my—” Alphinaud’s pupils disappeared beneath his lids, distaste in his voice as he went on “—‘ill use’.” Voice hard and full of false bravado, he said, “Rest assured I shan’t break if you fuck me.”

Estinien eyed him dubiously. Alphinaud had never achieved nearly the subtlety he no doubt strived for, his scars of all sorts glaring to a man himself no stranger to them. The scars hiding beneath the high neckline of his collar were the least of them by far, and not infrequently frustration brought him near tears when he failed to produce a particular word he sought in any of the languages at his disposal. Several mornings he offered weak excuses for red, swollen eyes as though all had not heard the sobs he muffled with his bedroll; comfort had never been among Estinien’s few and particular talents, but even had he the skill it was clear Alphinaud did not want to be coddled.

But the hard look in Alphinaud’s eyes and the set of his mouth as he stared Estinien down suggested he had no intention of dropping the topic, and despite his theoretical inclinations it seemed to Estinien the boy learned best through experience. Let him find for himself where his limits fell, with Estinien present to assure he came to no harm; while he doubted it would be the case, should Alphinaud have judged correctly, then the both of them would find release—and perhaps the boy would stare after him a little less. 

“Well,” Estinien sighed. “Come along, then,” and ushered Alphinaud some dozen yalms into the treeline.

The act was far more awkward for its intentionality; rarely did Estinien encounter more preamble than a word exchanged and an offer made. His releasing the latches on his armor hardly matched the care in Alphinaud’s positioning himself on a suitable stump, for on his knees he would hardly be the proper height, and he refused for reasons of his own to be taken standing. The disparity in their sizes—already no small inconvenience when Estinien had fucked the boy on his back—had never been so apparent as when Alphinaud was situated and Estinien had stroked himself hard.

“It isn’t going to fit,” said Estinien.

Alphinaud eyed his cock. “It will.” Without hesitation, he wrapped slight fingers freed of his gloves around the base, barely closing around his girth, and tipped his head forward to take the head into his mouth.

Estinien would grant that the boy was—enthusiastic, if nothing else. And his cock did—_barely_, but it _did_—fit, if only because he did not mind the drag of blunt teeth along his shaft. For all that Estinien would not complain of a hot mouth, Alphinaud treated the matter with no more technique than another hole could afford, betraying his inexperience. At his age Estinien had been no better.

“Use your tongue,” Estinien told him, and immediately felt it playing at the slit. Alphinaud worked at his pleasure with a studied sort of focus, like a proof he’d never tried to solve before, and though it was too unskilled to be _good_, Estinien felt all the fonder of him for it. “What you can’t take in your mouth, you can use your hands.”

Seeming to take that as a challenge, Alphinaud slipped his hand further down Estinien’s cock so that the line of his palm dug into Estinien’s pelvis, free hand clawing for purchase in the joints of his armor, and took him further into his mouth. The head of his cock butted up against Alphinaud’s soft palate, and he could feel the fluttering spasms of the boy’s throat when he reflexively gagged for taking it. 

Taking him this deep, his tongue could do little of interest, but Alphinaud still tried, laving at the vein on the underside of Estinien’s cock as he worked the length with his hand—industrious he may have been, but he was hardly able to take Estinien to the root of his own volition, and Estinien was not such a brute as to pull Alphinaud onto his cock by the hair. Surely Alphinaud had seen more than enough of such use—nothing else could account for both his inexpertise and his confidence in gauging whether or not he could accommodate Estinien’s girth.

Though Estinien did let his hand fall to rest on Alphinaud’s head, it was only gently, not wanting to hurt him; in his armor, weaving his fingers through Alphinaud’s hair as he had when they took a room together would cause it to catch on the joints of his gauntlets. Alphinaud tilted his head into the touch; in the moonlight tear tracks shone on his cheeks, and Estinien’s blood ran cold.

“Why—” Alphinaud’s voice rasped when Estinien stepped back out of reach, holding both his hands where the boy could see them. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re _crying_.” He should never have allowed this, should have _known_ how this would go. It was clear all Alphinaud had ever known in these matters was brutality, and likewise that was all he had ever sought from less malicious parties when he had slipped the Warrior of Light’s watch: of _course_ he would think this unconcerning, even _normal_. Did he fear too that should he not perform to Estinien’s liking he would prise satisfaction from his lips?

“Yes? I,” Alphinaud touched his cheek, then tilted back his hand to look at the tears resting upon the pads of his fingertips in confusion. “It’s only cosmetics. It stings,” he added when Estinien’s silence became conspicuous, “when it runs in your eyes. I’m not _upset_.”

Estinien watched Alphinaud with care for any sign of the distress oddly absent in his voice. He would have wagered a bet most did not silently carry on through crying, be it caused by stinging eyes or something more troubling; on those rare occasions anyone in his more typical encounters wore cosmetics, they simply offered an explanation and scrubbed their eyes on their shirt before returning to it. Even taken at his word, Alphinaud’s lack of concern for his own comfort was unsettling, and in light of his history… “Would you tell me if you were? Or if I were hurting you?”

“My knees are a bit sore,” Alphinaud allowed—humoring him, Estinien knew, “but I promise you, I’m more than willing.” He reached out with both hands, fingertips brushing Estinien’s cuisses, the raised scars upon his bare wrists reflecting Menphina’s light as conspicuously as the tears which stained his cheeks.

Estinien let out a heavy breath and closed the gap between them. Alphinaud slipped his hand under Estinien’s own, replacing his touch to bring him back to hardness. Casting a glance up from beneath wet lashes and finding what perhaps he read as approval, he shifted his fingers on Estinien’s cock to lick a stripe up the underside, base to tip. It was sloppy, wet, overtly sexual in a way that put Estinien’s stomach in knots for his appreciation; for all that Alphinaud was not so young as he looked, how he looked was—no less than criminal, tiny and frail on his knees for him. That he could appreciate such an image, that he was willing—even _eager_—to lie with a boy little better than half his age and looking still younger not once but _twice_… though such lusts were not forbidden by the Doctrines, it felt to Estinien as much a sin as any Ysayle so gladly committed.

Fresh tears sprung to Alphinaud’s eyes when he took Estinien’s cock into his mouth properly, jaw straining for it and barely pausing to mouth at the head before his lips met his curling fingers. Another glance up through his lashes, and all that kept Estinien from telling him he needn’t go so fast or take him half so deep was the knowledge the softness in his voice would only spur Alphinaud further.

Bad enough he’d allowed it to go this far.

“You should, ah—” Estinien raised one hand, and realizing he had naught to hold but Alphinaud’s head let it fall gracelessly to his side, “—close your lips around the shaft. Suck on it as you rock back on your heels,” and perhaps couched in such terms Alphinaud would take it for a preference and not advice for his struggling pace, bowing and rising to take the length of him. Advice read as such was like to come unwelcome from the likes of him. Alphinaud hummed acknowledgement against his skin that had him fighting the urge to thrust his hips; did as directed—breathing through his nose with no difficulty nor need of guidance—and caused him to lose the battle. “I’m close,” he gasped, though surely the boy would recognize the unsteady rock of his hips for what it was and pull off so Estinien might take himself in hand to finish.

But Alphinaud did not so much as attempt to retreat. With a warm mouth working at the head of his cock, teeth and tongue dragging against his shaft, Estinien could delay the inevitable no further, spilling onto Alphinaud’s tongue—too late Estinien forced himself back, away from the temptation of the boy’s clutching throat. His seed fell from Alphinaud’s lips, made a mess of his chin, despite his effort to swallow what he could. 

Alphinaud sat back on his heels, wiped his mouth clean with his fingers before scrubbing his eyes with the back of the same hand. Dry of tears and the only remnant of those ridiculous cosmetics the dark smudges beneath his eyes, Alphinaud looked up once more through now-pale lashes. “Was that—all right?”

“A sight better than my first.” He trusted the ease in his voice and his spent cock to convey the compliment. “And I’d be spitting if I tried anything like that,” he added, when Alphinaud licked the mess off his fingers. He did not linger, no more aware of his allure than Aymeric catching a stray drop of honey on his tongue.

Estinien left the lacing of his breeches for later, only kneeling on the rocks and pulling off his helm to set it beside him. Alphinaud stared as though he had never seen his face before, searching his features intently for something Estinien could not guess at.

“I won’t mind should you pull my hair loose,” he offered; it was little effort to tie it up again, and he doubted Alphinaud would have the self-control to still his hands. The first time Estinien had someone’s mouth on him, he’d tugged bruises into his partner’s scalp. “Just stand and shove down your stockings a ways.”

“What? Why?”

“The cold is miserable enough without trying to sleep in wet clothes,” said Estinien, but Alphinaud still sat on his heels, staring at him wide-eyed, making no move to undress—and Estinien realized his assumption. He’d not considered that Alphinaud might fear the vulnerability of having Estinien between his thighs. “Unless you don’t want my mouth.”

Alphinaud gasped a quiet _oh_. “You mean to—?”

“I—” Estinien shook his head. “Of course I mean to, less it not be to your liking. What do you take me for?”

“_Yes_,” Alphinaud said in answer to a question unasked, and stood on unsteady legs, little hands disappearing beneath the hem of his tunic.

This boy would be the death of him.


End file.
